


Misapprehension

by headsupimhere



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Arthur's Journal, Fluff, M/M, haha you thought you were getting fluff, not really fluff though, slight sexual inferences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headsupimhere/pseuds/headsupimhere
Summary: Arthur is drop-dead gorgeous.





	Misapprehension

He’s not quite sure what makes Arthur so gorgeous.

The man is not graceful as a woman would be, light on her feet and delicate with words. He is, however, elegant in his own nature. The way he can hold his tongue in even instances where others find themselves incapable, or the way he can, so simply, assist people with their own personal matters. The smile on his face when he does, and diversely, the disappointment he gains when he has failed to aid those in need. The obvious chagrin he procures from the knowledge of being insufficient.

Of course, Arthur is far from such in Dutch’s mind. Then again, all he knows is that the man is, even in the worst possible instances, impossibly breathtaking. Covered in blood and the entrails of a deer, or even with the strongest countenance of pointed indignation that Dutch has ever seen, he’s gorgeous. When he asks about a word, Dutch can’t help but smile at the undeniably vexed, yet curious in a certain light, mien he carries with him.

Even the scowl he wears on a day-to-day basis -- the sad, perplexed manner he exudes, despite everything he has to smile about, if only just for a while, Dutch finds utterly magnificent.

Dutch Van der Linde is terribly and incredulously obsessed with Arthur Morgan.

There’s a point in time where Dutch gets a small glimpse into that staggering mind of his, getting his hands on that journal, if only for a few minutes. Arthur had gotten up to go chat with a few other members of the gang, unwittingly leaving the book behind. His short amount of time with the bound paper in his hand is not put to waste, however, let that be known. There’s nothing revealing on the page he finds himself scrutinizing, at least at first, only a small list of words and their definitions.

The one thing he does notice, however, is that these are each of the words Dutch had been asked to define. He recalls every interaction; during each, he was asked to spell and give an equivalent of the word. Glancing over a few, he finds himself smiling at the sentences Arthur had written below them. Sure, he’s not a child, and should not be treated as such, but Dutch can’t help but find this behaviour ridiculously endearing.

> **Spiffy** \- looking smart
> 
> \- Dutch is rather  _spiffy_ when he’s reading.

Dutch can’t help the smile summoned to his face when he reads it but doesn’t stop himself there.

> **Quiver** \- tremble
> 
> \- When I think of Dutch, my whole body _quivers_. (?)  ~~Ask Dutch later.~~   **DON’T ASK.**

By this point, Dutch recognises how incredibly intrusive this act is. This is unlike him. Then again, so is being so overcome with emotions brought on by another man. The thought is enough to stabilise his conscience, so he continues to read on.

> **Smother** \- covering something completely
> 
> \- ~~I want Dutch to~~ ~~ _sm_~~ ~~I am _smothered_ by~~ ~~My emotions are _smoth_~~ I _smothered_ a deer the other day.
> 
> **Rigid** \- stiff
> 
> \- ~~Dutch makes m~~ I’m rigid with fear.

There’s a moment in Dutch’s mind where he wonders if he should mention his reading of Arthur’s journal to him. Especially when the information is so interesting, and was sitting right before him, tempting his hand. And as a lion to a lamb, his fingers grabbed at the book and seized the moment while it lasted. He knows that if Arthur catches him now, there’s no returning to their previous relations, but he’s not sure he wants that any longer. Dutch used to think they were on the same wavelength, the same objective, most of the time. He’s learned now that his knowledge was flawed, and utterly incorrect, at that. 

> **Dubious** \- uncertain and doubting
> 
> \- I wish I could simply understand what I feel for some people. Some specific people more than others, sure, but in general, I just want to understand. I’m always so _dubious_ towards my emotions. Maybe it’s because I’m a man? Sure. That’s got to be it. Clearly, as the others left me so easily. Maybe it wasn’t my face this whole time, but my _dubiousness_ when it came to their feelings.

Maybe if Dutch weren’t so caught up in the words on the page, the smudged pencil, or the slightly water-warped parchment, he would’ve heard Arthur’s distress immediately. Maybe if he hadn’t touched the book in the first place, they wouldn’t’ve ever brought up the topic, and Dutch wouldn’t be second-guessing his actions as much as he is now. Maybe if he were thinking clearer, he would’ve handed the book back, after seeing those hands desperately reaching for it. But for some reason, some _goddamn_ reason, he stands and looks Arthur in the eyes, a blank stare on his face. He’s not sure what to think any longer.

Dutch was the one who had mentioned the idea of a journal to Arthur. The idea of keeping Arthur’s thoughts in one place, and he could revisit them when times were better. When he can laugh at the hardships, and enjoy the product of them, in the future. It was more of a rhetorical idea at first, but now he recognises that Arthur takes his ideas for all they’re worth.

Watching Arthur’s movements, he feels time slow. Since when had Arthur grown to look so tired? When did his cheekbones begin to poke through his skin, or his tanned complexion turn to such a pale white? When had he begun to look so sickly? Had Dutch truly allowed himself to be so caught up in a fantasy, in a memory, that he’d ignored the signs? Had Arthur allowed them to show?

Dutch lowers the journal and steps forward, a hand raised to touch Arthur’s face. To solidify that this man was once alive.

Surely, Arthur is living. His heart is beating, there’s still a slight pink in his cheeks, but he’s not living. Not like he used to. When he was at his prime, healthy as he could be. What had happened since Dutch had allowed himself to get so caught up in his mind? What else has he allowed himself to simply glance over?

His hand is shoved away, Arthur moving to take the book from Dutch’s hand. Despite Arthur retrieving his journal, Dutch doesn’t stop being so insistent. He pushes his hand back and finally allows the palm of his hand to touch Arthur’s scraggly, unkempt stubble.

“My son,” Dutch breathes through a gentle sob of grief. “What’s happened to you?” He watches as Arthur’s eyes glint with a coating of tears, never allowed to fall.

“Too much.” Arthur simply says, a hoarse tone to his voice, stepping away from the touch and turning to head back to his tent with his journal. “And I trusted you, Dutch, to be there. But _you_ were there for none of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was not at all what i planned it to be, but it's a thing and i had to rewrite the ending about 3 times anyway s00o


End file.
